


Need a hand?

by kiwifeather



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, also it's set during christmas time because i'm in the holiday mood even though it's june, tony lives in the tower because convenience, were pretending peter's suit doesn't have a heater for the sake of storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-14 17:12:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19277773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwifeather/pseuds/kiwifeather
Summary: Peter spends too much time in the cold and suffers a mishap during patrol, Tony comes to the rescue like a good mentor/father figure. It's basically lots of fluff and letting them be happy since marvel refuses to





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I need you to know that I'm not really a writer so if this is bad I sincerely apologize!! I'm def out of practice as I've written, like, four proper things since graduating high school two years ago.

Peter shoots out a web, zipping through the frosty December air as he deftly swings between New York's tallest skyscrapers. The city is uncharacteristically quiet beneath him, all the usual bustling sounds currently muffled by the thick blanket of fresh snow that had steadily accumulated throughout the later hours of the evening. It glitters and winks prettily up at him under the glow of the streetlights-- like a scene plucked straight off the front of a Hallmark christmas card. Peter thinks it's refreshing (though admittedly slightly strange) to see the normally busy streets practically vacant, save for the infrequent bundled-up pedestrian or two. It's rather peaceful.

He might even be enjoying the rare tranquility of the moment it if he wasn't, y'know, positively frozen to his core.

Peter casts another web and brings his free arm up to his face, muffling a sharp cough into his elbow. He's been feeling a little off since yesterday-- winter weather tends to mess with his spider DNA and tonight is no exception. The frigid air always seems to sap all the energy out of him (not ideal for his profession) but, luckily, patrol had been fairly uneventful that night. Even bad guys recognize how sucky it is to be out when the temperature is this extreme.

 

He coughs roughly into his fist, grimly noting the prickly ache that had taken up residence in his throat.

 

"Why am I even out here," Peter grumbles to himself as he launches another web and maneuvers sharply to the right, deciding it's high-time for a shortcut. He swings into a significantly narrow alley, wincing at the tight squeeze. He's especially aware that one wrong move could send him careening into the side of a building, or onto the concrete below. Usually he'd be wall crawling in such a confined space, but web-slinging is so much faster and it's so _cold_. He continues to fly through the air, pulling off a pair of graceful front-flips with ease in hopes of getting his blood pumping, maybe warm up his numb limbs a bit. It works a little, but mostly just makes him dizzy.

Peter's rounding another corner when his breath hitches unexpectedly, and he abruptly sneezes once, twice into the crook of his arm. _Uh oh,_ he thinks warily. He most definitely does not have time to spend being sick. Semester finals are next week and he's scheduled to spend the weekend at the Leeds household, stuffing his face with junk food and dutifully studying with Ned and MJ (and totally not taking copious breaks to play intense rounds of Mario Kart 8, no way).

 _Better make it back to the apartment quickly_ , he reckons. Peter increases his speed and in the same moment he reaches out for another web, a third shuddery sneeze takes him by surprise, causing him to fumble a bit and he ends up missing his mark completely; suddenly he finds himself in a free fall and before he has time to properly react--

 

**_Ploompf!_ **

 

Peter hits the snow covered pavement with a heavy thud. He lays dazedly on the concrete for a few seconds, flat on his back, and tries to process the last minute. Craning his neck forward, he sheepishly glances around to see if anyone had witnessed what was, arguably, the most embarrassing thing that'd ever happened to him. Deeming himself alone, the boy lets his head fall back onto the ground and closes his eyes, sighing in relief. A video of Spider-man sneezing himself into a nose-dive and crash landing like a pancake undoubtedly would have gone viral, and he really doesn't need that kind of media attention right now. Not when the city and it's residents (one billionaire superhero in particular) are finally starting to take him seriously.

 

He shivers lightly.

Ugh.

He really needs to get home.

 

Wiggling his fingers and toes experimentally, Peter is delighted to find them all in working order. Maybe the fluffy snow he landed in had spared him from any injuries? Cautiously, he proceeds to roll onto his side-- well, tries to-- but ends up gasping in shock as sharp pangs ricochet up his sides, and he feels his creaking ribs scream in protest as he shifts quickly back down. Stars dance in his vision as Peter lies stock-still, panting and willing the pain to lessen. After a few agonizing seconds it finally subsides, reducing to a dull ache that is considerably more tolerable.

So that wasn't great.

He suspects a couple ribs had been cracked on impact, but he needs to be sure.

 

"Karen?" Peter near-whispers, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. Not that anyone was around, anyway. He's the only one crazy enough to be out right now.

 

"Yes, Peter?" His AI's chirpy voice rings in his ears, familiar and welcome.

 

"Damage report, please?"

 

"Certainly!" She begins rattling off information, but Peter is too distracted by the frenzied thoughts echoing through his brain to fully listen.

 

_(pleasenothingseriouspleasenothingseriouspleasenothingserious)_

 

"…and though all suit systems are functioning properly--"

 

_(pleasenothingseriouspleasenothingseriouspleasenothingserious)_

 

"--my scans indicate vertebrosternal ribs 3-6 on your left side have suffered serious fractures and may require medical attention."

 

_(crap.)_

 

"Extensive bruising to the surrounding area has begun to occur, and I estimate it will take around twenty four hours for them to fully mend in accordance with your enhanced healing factor," Karen finishes cheerfully, a distinct contrast to how the injured boy himself is feeling. Peter groans inwardly; and to think he had been worried over the possibility of catching a cold.

 

Peter sighs dejectedly, the sigh turning into a cough and the cough turning into a wince at the resulting sharp pain in his chest. Screwing up his face, he reluctantly resigns to the fact that he isn't gonna be able to web-swing his way out of this one. Heck, he probably couldn't even drag himself out this alley if he tried. By this point he had been lying in the snow for at least ten minutes now, long enough to feel the piercing cold seeping through his suit and finding a home deep within his bones. Before long, he's shivering uncontrollably and feeling pretty low. Each little movement sends sparks of pain radiating through Peter's battered torso and he squeezes his eyes shut, concentrating on keeping as still as possible. He needs help.

 

He needs Mr. Stark.

 

 As if on cue, a slick black Audi pulls up on the street in front of Peter and comes to a rolling stop at the entrance to his alley. The passenger side door opens with a click and out steps Tony Stark himself, pausing only for a moment to briskly survey the scene before making his way toward the wounded boy. He's carrying a steaming travel mug in one hand and has a thick woven blanket slung over his shoulder.

But, most importantly, he's wearing the most hideous reindeer sweater Peter has ever laid eyes on.

 

 Tony approaches him with a warm smile.

 

"Need a hand, kiddo?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Boss, incoming from Karen. Would you like me to relay the message?"

 

F.R.I.D.A.Y picks up the distress signal right as Tony is pulling the most ridiculous, gaudy looking christmas sweater he had ever owned, let alone seen, up over his head.

 

"Uh-- just a second, Fri, I'm a little preoccupied here," Tony huffs. He's standing in his closet, struggling to get his arms through the floppy sleeves. The thing's at least two sizes too big.

 

It's neon puce green (reminiscent of what can only be described as radioactive baby food) with a heavily sequined reindeer head slapped right on the front, a small blinking red bulb lighting up the reindeer's nose. The cursed article of clothing is easily the most embarrassing thing he's ever worn, and it serves as penance for losing a bet with Pepper. At least he doesn't have any plans to leave the tower tonight. The man shudders at the thought of being caught in public sporting such a monstrosity. He has a reputation to uphold, _thankyouverymuch._

 

"Alright, Friday." He fusses hopelessly at the sequins, trying to make them lie flat. "What's up with the kid?"

 

"According to Karen, Peter was web slinging his way home before falling from a considerable height. She sent the distress signal without his instruction. Directions to his location have already been programmed into the vehicle waiting out front."

 

Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair as he purposefully strides out of the closet and into the bedroom. It's pretty cold out-- the _it'd-been-snowing-for-hours_ type of cold-- Peter is probably a popsicle by now. He's gonna need some supplies.

"Get the car running and warm it up a bit."

"On it, Boss."

"And start the keurig, he's gonna need some hot chocolate. Four marshmallows, the way he likes it," he adds nonchalantly, slightly proud of the fact that he knows the kid's hot chocolate preference.

 

He plucks Pepper's favorite blanket off of the bed, stumbling a bit as he tosses the heavy bundle over his shoulder. It's velvety and enormous, and according to Pepper it makes you feel like you're wrapped in the royal pelts of a fifteenth-century viking queen.

 

Perfect for warming up a frozen spiderling.

 

Tony treks cheerfully down the hall and towards the elevator doors, stopping briefly in the kitchen to pick up the steaming drink.

 

Time to get his kid.

 

 

________

 

 

 

Tony's car pulls up to the scene and he steps out quickly, swiftly shutting the door behind him to keep the warm air from escaping. He's greeted by the sight of Peter lying flat on his back in a pile of snow, mask off, looking like he had given up midway through making a snow angel. The kid doesn't stir much as Tony approaches, just lifts his head up a few inches off the ground and meets his mentor's gaze. Relief flickers in his eyes and he grins bashfully. The sight warms Tony's heart just a smidge.

 

"Need a hand, kiddo?" Tony offers, holding his free arm out. The other carries the travel mug, and the weighty blanket is still slung over his shoulder.

 

Peter's face brightens for half a second before giving him a confused look.

 

"Ugh, yeah, tha-- wait, w-what are you doing here? How did you find me? And what the heck are y-you wearing?" He asks in mock horror, teeth chattering slightly, his face lit up by the red bulb securely fastened on Tony's sweater.

 

"We can discuss that later," Tony waves his hand dismissively. "It seems your handy-dandy AI has got a mind of her own," he smirks. A shiver ripples through him-- it can't be warmer than fifteen degrees out and his sweater, in addition to being decidedly the worst thing he's ever owned, is additionally criminally thin. He urgently wiggles his outstretched fingers, signaling for Peter to take his hand.

 

"Up and at 'em, Pete. The roads are a bit iffy and the snow is still coming down, so you're coming back to the tower and hanging out with me for a few hours. You ready?"

 

The kid hesitates, and Tony notices him looking a little green around the gills. He frowns and brings his hand up, running it through his hair thoughtfully. Something is off.

 

"Hey, your legs aren't broken, right? Friday did mention that you fell.."

 

Peter launches into a hasty explanation.

 

"O-oh no, no, my legs are fine, Mr. Stark. See?" He wiggles his toes, proving his point. "It's, well, my ribs. Karen, um. K-karen said they were a little… cracked." The kid's face falls and Tony sees a glint of pain flash in his downcast eyes. That isn't good.

 

Time to get a move on.

 

"Right, bud, hang on," Tony supplies before rushing back to the car, depositing the blanket and mug inside. He quickly returns to Peter's side and kneels down in the snow, morphing his face into what he hopes is an offer of comfort.

 

"Okay, kid," he begins softly, "Getting tossed around in the suit every other weekend means I've suffered a few cracked ribs of my own, so I know the kind of you're in pain right now." He pauses, delaying his next sentence to look at Peter pleadingly. "But I gotta get you into that car, and that'll only happen if we work together, can you do that?"

 

Peter nods grimly, his lips pressed in a tight line. His eyes are filled with boyish determination and possibly a few unshed tears.

 

"I'm ready."

 

Tony pats his bicep encouragingly before moving to kneel behind the kid's head. He snakes his arms under Peter's armpits, doing his best not to jostle the boy more than strictly necessary.

 

"Alright," Tony huffs, "I'm going to move you into a sitting position, and then we'll stand up together and I'll help you into the car. You ready?"

 

Peter nods again and squeezes his eyes shut, steeling himself for the imminent discomfort. Tony can't help but notice just how _young_ it makes him look, and the man feels a rush of sympathy, wishing he could take the kid's pain away. Instead, he takes a deep breath and pulls the kid up towards him as gently as he can manage. Peter hisses sharply through gritted teeth at the sudden movement but is otherwise silent, seemingly concentrated on trying not to cry out in front of his hero.

 

Now that Peter is sitting up, Tony wraps an arm carefully around the kid's waist and helps him to his feet successfully, mumbling soothing reassurances in his ear.

"Good job Pete, almost there."

He supports most of the boy's weight as they amble to the car, Peter only stumbling slightly when they come to a slow stop. Tony opens the door and cautiously maneuveres the kid into the backseat before hurrying around to the other side and hopping in himself.

 

"Take us home, Fri," he directs, and the vehicle drives smoothly out onto the street. After taking a moment to catch his breath, Tony turns to face Peter and frowns slightly when he notices that the spiderling is shivering rather violently, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

 

"Oh, hey," Tony turns around and grabs the blanket off the seat behind him, draping it over the kid's trembling form.

"This is for you. Technically it's Pepper's, but I'm sure she won't mind you borrowing it." He leans over and plucks the travel mug out of it's cup holder, holding it out for Peter to take.

"This is for you, too. Hot chocolate with four marshmallows, just how you like it." The kid accepts it with a grateful look and sips tentatively, wincing through the twinge of pain accompanying the slight movement.

 

"T-thanks, Mr. Stark," he expresses between sips, "you really didn't need to do all this."

 

Tony hums in acknowledgment and pulls out his Starkpad, tapping away at the screen and trying to hide his pleased smile at the kid's thanks. Peter, still feeling moderately frozen, sets the mug back down and wraps the blanket more snugly around his body. He coughs a bit into the plush fabric before settling back in his seat and turning his attention towards the fogged up window. Casting his eyes outside, he searches for a distraction from the relentless throbbing in his chest ( _and the one in his throat.. though the warm drink did seem to help a bit_ ).  

 

Tony continues to casually check his email and the next few minutes pass in relative quiet, the silence only punctuated by the occasional sniff from Peter's direction. The older man looks pointedly away and further occupies himself on his Starkpad, trying to give the kid the little bit of privacy available to him in such a small space. Tony had watched the boy hold it together so well in the alleyway, but maybe the pain was catching up to him now that the adrenaline had worn off. Cracked ribs were no fun at all.

 

Eventually Tony turns toward Peter, his constant sniffling becoming too hard to ignore, and speaks to him in an uncharacteristically tender voice.

 

"Hey, kiddo." He reaches out a hand, settling it on Peter's knee. Peter startles a bit and meets his gaze, his eyes bright and red-rimmed.

 

"I know you're hurting," he continues gently, "but we're only a few minutes out from the tower and you'll be popping some special spiderkid super-strength pain killers in no time, okay? I'll get you all fixed up, I promise." Tony nods assuredly and finishes on what he hopes is a comforting note, but the kid just looks at him blankly.

 

Sudden realization dawns on Peter's face and he drops his eyes quickly, deliberately looking anywhere but at the man in front of him. He opens his mouth to speak but coughs instead, and he clears his throat painfully before trying again.

 

"Oh, uh, that's really nice of you to s-say Mr. Stark," he stammers, "but it's not that bad now. Really." Peter sniffles pathetically.

 

Tony squints at him, looking rather unconvinced.

 

"Really, kid? Because, and no offense here, but you look and sound a little worse-for-wear right now."

 

Peter blushes and looks off to the side.

 

"I swear, it's really not that bad. I'm, uh, I'm not actually crying, I just.. I was patrolling in the snow for a few hours and um…" he sniffs again and scrubs at his nose, "it's really warm in here and I think I'm just… thawing out," he finishes lamely.

 

Tony stares at him.

 

"Oh."

 

And then,

 

"gross."

 

They sit in awkward silence, Peter feeling more embarrassed by the second, before the older man abruptly shifts positions and digs around the glovebox to his left. He pulls out a pack of travel tissues and offers them to Peter--who accepts them appreciatively-- all to aware of the blush steadily creeping up his cheeks.

 

"Thanks," he mumbles, pressing a few against his nose.

 

"No problem," Tony assures, turning back to his Starkpad. Peter, feeling a bit better, glances casually in his mentor's direction and is once again taken aback by the man's appearance. His mouth quirks into a slight grin at the sight of the sequined reindeer plastered on Tony's chest, and the bright red bulb where the reindeer's nose should be was casting a soft crimson glow over their seats. The garish sweater looked like it had climbed out of the clearance bin of a Goodwill that hadn't updated it's merchandise since 1989, and even that was an understatement.

 

Before he has a chance to ask about it, the car pulls into the tower's garage and Tony is hurriedly climbing out of the vehicle. He comes around to Peter's side and opens the door, gently removes the spiderling from the vehicle, and helps him walk haphazardly to the elevator while trying to keep the blanket from slipping off the kid's narrow shoulders. They step inside and the doors slide shut behind them.

 

"Penthouse, Fri."

 

A wave of exhaustion washes over Peter and he leans heavily into his mentor's side as they ascend, knees feeling too weak to properly hold him up. Even though he's under a blanket Tony can feel the kid is still shaking like a leaf, despite the comfortably warm ride home and the fact that he's currently wrapped up like a burrito.

 

"You still cold, kid?" Tony frets, and he notices that Peter's eyes are unusually bright. "Exactly how long were you out there for?" He places a hand on the kid's forehead. It's a little too warm, but that could easily be attributed to the heaters being on full-blast in the car. Still, he feels a little twinge of worry stirring in his chest. Peter leans into the touch, further his concerns.

 

"Uh, I'm not sure--" Peter starts to reply but is cut off by a sharp cough. He clutches at his chest, burning pain rippling through his torso as he coughs deeply, harsher than before. He inhales, long and slow, trying to catch his breath. Tony watches sympathetically, albeit helplessly, and wills the elevator to move faster. The doors finally slide open and he swiftly steers Peter in the direction of the couch, assisting the boy into a comfortable position before rushing off towards the medicine cabinet. Peter, left alone, wraps an arm around his waist and whimpers slightly. There's a dull ache settling at the back of his skull, only adding to his discomfort. He allows himself a few seconds of self-pity until he hears Tony's footsteps returning from down the hall. The man re-enters the living room at a brisk pace, a bag of honey flavored Hall's in one hand (Peter despises mint) and a digital thermometer in the other. He sits on the edge of the couch and unwraps a cough drop while signaling for Peter to open his mouth, who complies immediately. As the kid sucks gratefully on his lozenge, Tony brushes some stray curls out of the way and sticks the thermometer in the boy's ear. Peter opens his mouth questioningly, but Tony interrupts him before he can get any words out.

 

"Under normal circumstances I'd have Friday scan your body temp, but Pepper says that this is more accurate," he says, scoffing. "Now usually I’d be offended by a comment like that because, hey, Friday is the most advanced AI in the world." Tony raises an eyebrow pointedly. "But over that last few years, I've reluctantly come to realize that Pepper Potts is always, always right. So, we’re doing it this way." His sentence is punctuated by a quiet beep, and the man blows out a breath before reporting the number glowing up at him.

 

"99.8. Not too bad, but you're definitely sick."

 

Peter groans, sinking into the cushions.

 

"Cancel your weekend plans, Underoos, and get Aunt Hottie on the phone. Let her know you'll be sleeping over here tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I could tell the whole story in two chapters? Haha looks like it's gonna be three instead
> 
> Thanks for sticking around, sorry it's taking so long!


	3. Chapter 3

"You really don't have to take care of me, Mr. Stark," Peter mumbles as he cautiously lowers himself onto the couch once again, Tony's calloused hands gently guiding him down.

 

"I'm not totally helpless. Besides, my ribs don’t even hurt that bad anymore." He's telling the truth, everything feels much better after downing a couple of the super-kid painkillers Bruce and Tony had whipped up for him a few months prior. He settles back into the cushions feeling comfortably warm, having changed out of his suit and into the striped green cotton pajamas Tony had pressed into his arms with a rueful smile ( _"Might be a little big for you, but they're more comfortable than what you've got on."_ ).

 

"What ever you say, Pete," Tony humors him, rolling his eyes the tiniest bit as he heads toward the kitchen.

 

Peter wraps Pepper's blanket back around him and watches from his cozy cocoon as Tony continues to bustle around the room, rummaging around various cupboards and drawers. He dozes off to the sound of Tony's movements, only to wake a few minutes later when the cushions sink by his side. Peter's eyes flutter open and he's met with the sight of Tony perched next to him, holding a spoon in one hand and a bowl full of soup in the other. Peter can see little vegetables floating around the steaming broth and his stomach lets out an audible grumble.

 

"Well, you've still got an appetite," Tony chuckles, "I'd say that's a good sign." He presses the bowl into Peter's hands, who accepts it eagerly.

 

"Eat up and we'll turn on a movie. You can pick, that way I won't be offended when you inevitably fall asleep ten minutes in." Tony smirks knowingly as he stands up and crosses the room, where he snatches a fluffy purple throw off the back of a lounge chair. He grabs the T.V remote off the fancy glass coffee table on his way back and tosses it onto Peter's lap before settling down next to the boy. Peter, who has yet to touch his soup, watches his mentor with a muddled look on his face. Tony's eyebrows knit together, a frown tugging at the corner's of his mouth.

 

"What, is it gross? Am I really so bad at cooking that I somehow botched heating up canned soup?"

 

"Huh? Oh, no!" Peter is quick to assure him. "You're just… you're being, like, really nice. Don't you have stuff to do? You don't have to hang out with me, I know you're busy." He looks down apologetically.

 

"Kiddo," Tony says flatly. "Look at me. Do you think I'd be wearing this monstrosity if I had things to do? Absolutely not." He gestures at his hideous sweater, poking at some of the sequins. The action earns a laugh from the kid and Tony smiles at the sound, secretly wishing he heard it more often.

 

"Besides, who else would I be hanging out with? Happy? You know how he gets around christmas-time, always humming carols under his breath. And Pepper is the reason I'm in this whole mess, I'm not gonna give her the satisfaction of seeing me like this." He tugs at his sleeves and gives Peter a serious look.

 

"Don't ever make bets with Pepper Potts, kid. It's dangerous business."

 

Peter nods solemnly, a barely concealed smile adorning his lips.

 

"Noted."

 

 

 

Peter finishes his soup in record time, only having to pause once or twice to swipe at his nose with a tissue. He flips through several T.V channels before settling on The Good Place, but not without modest protest from Tony ("Ah kid, you know this one makes me all existential-y and crap." "C'mon Mr. Stark, it's a good show! Just watch Eleanor eat shrimp and don't think about it too hard."). Empty bowl now resting on the coffee table, Peter gathers his blanket snugly around him and tucks his feet up on the couch. His achy ribs are barely noticeable at this point, thanks the super-kid painkillers. Bleary eyes focused on the television, he relaxes into the couch and senses sleep crowding the edges of his vision. Dimly aware that he's still sorta sitting up, Peter realizes that his neck is probably going to be sore after sleeping in such an odd position. Before he can muster up the energy to move, he feels calloused hands tugging him gently sideways until his head is settled comfortably on someone's lap. He cracks his eyes open and catches a glimpse of a gaudy green sweater.

 

_Tony._

 

Peter stretches his legs out and sighs deeply, tucking his hands by his face and burrowing into his blanket. Tony watches fondly as the kid's lips curve into a faint smile. It makes something warm and bright stir in the man's chest and he affectionately brushes the stray curls off of Peter's forehead, finding it still a bit too hot for his liking, but not worryingly so.

 

He turns his attention half-heartedly to the T.V, one hand remaining in Peter's hair as he cards his fingers through the boy's curls, untangling little knots here and there. He jumps a bit when Peter sneezes suddenly into the blanket, but laughs quietly when he realizes the boy hadn't otherwise stirred in the slightest. He must be exhausted, Tony concludes. Basking in the tranquility of the moment, the man continues to play with the kid's soft hair and lets his mind wander. The relative quiet is broken only by Peter's muted little snores and the occasional gust of wind against the windows, and Tony mindlessly watches the television as snow steadily gathers outside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Hm… wha--?" Peter mumbles under his breath.

 

A few hours have passed, and the boy wakes when he feels Tony shifting next to him. Thinking the man is trying to stand up, Peter groggily lifts his head a bit and opens his eyes slowly, waiting for them to adjust to the dimly lit room. He muffles a few coughs in his fist and glances up at Tony.

 

His mentor is not trying to stand, like he originally thought, but instead he's shaking with silent laughter. He has one hand over his mouth, joyful eyes glued to the T.V-- until they flick in Peter's direction and widen comically.

 

"Hey kiddo-- sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Tony apologizes. He takes a deep breath and exhales through puffed out cheeks, chuckling softly.

 

"It's okay, I think I was about to wake up anyway." Peter rubs his eyes sleepily. "What's so funny?"

 

"Oh, Peter, it's--" Tony runs a hand over his face, trying to compose himself. "This is-- this is too good, Pete," he laughs again. "You've gotta see it."

 

Tony rewinds whatever he's watching and Peter rolls over, head still resting in his mentors lap as he turns to face the T.V. At first he's confused, struggling to decipher what's on the screen, but confusion rapidly turns to dread as he realizes what has the older man in stiches.

 

It's video from that evening's patrol, a.k.a the footage he'd hoped would never see the light of day.

 

"Wha-- Mr. Stark! You're not supposed to be watching this!"

 

Tony is cackling next to him and Peter watches sulkily as he wipes a few tears from his eyes.

 

"Oh, kid," he pats Peter's side good-naturedly, still chuckling steadily. "Sneezing yourself off your web? That-- that must have been so embarrassing for you," he finishes before erupting into fresh peals of laughter. Peter burrows his head into his blanket, effectively hiding himself from the world.

 

"Geez, Pete, that's one way to crack your ribs. Wait 'till May sees this, she'll never let you live it down!"

 

"What? No!" Peter shoots upright, struggling to untangle his limbs from under his blanket until he brings one hand up, pointing at his mentor in what he hopes is a threatening manner.

 

"No one is showing May! That footage does not leave this room." He glares at Tony, who's mouth quirks into a mischievous smirk.

 

"Oh yeah? How are you gonna stop me, Underoos?"

 

Peter's mouth opens and closes as he tries to form a response, _how could he stop him? Technically Tony owns the footage, he made the suit…_ Feeling hopeless, the boy was close to giving up when an idea struck.

 

His eyes settle on the sequined reindeer still plastered to Tony's front, it's bright red nose glowing cheerfully up at him. Peter points dramatically at the ghastly sweater.

 

"That's how."

 

Tony's eyes narrow dubiously as he sizes the boy up.

 

"You wouldn't."

 

Peter clears his throat before politely addressing the ceiling.

 

"Friday, could you please tell me how much footage you have of Mr. Stark wearing the sweater he currently has on?"

 

"Of course, Peter," the AI answers chirpily. "My records posses exactly 4 hours and 37 minutes of footage."

 

Peter raises an eyebrow and Tony swears under his breath. He stares at Peter for a few more measures before raising his hands in defeat.

 

"Alright, Spider-man," he concedes, extending an arm in front of him. "Truce?"

 

Peter grips the man's hand and shakes it professionally.

 

"Truce."

 

He pulls his arm back just in time to sneeze sharply into the crook of his elbow and Tony stands up, grabbing the box of tissues from the coffee table and offering them to Peter.

 

"I'm glad we could come to an agreement, now take these while I go wash your gross spiderkid germs off my hands."

 

Peter mumbles his thanks and coughs into his shoulder, listening to Tony's footsteps retreat down the hall. He comes back a minute later carrying a purple bottle.

 

"Superhero NyQuil," he says, sitting back down next to Peter. "I know I'm in no position to lecture you about your sleeping habits ( _he averages at about four hours a night, if he's_ _lucky_ ) _,_ but you're looking pretty beat, Pete."

 

He pours the dark purple syrup into a mini plastic cup, squinting at the measurement marks running along it's side.

 

"I've gotta return you to May tomorrow, and I'd rather not be on her bad side because I failed at taking care of her kid," his mentor explains while handing off the medicine to Peter. He downs it quickly, screwing his face up at the not-quite-grape taste. Tony takes the cup back and sets onto the coffee table.

 

He turns to face Peter and wraps an arm around the boys's side, careful not to squeeze too tightly.

 

"Okay kid, destination: third door down the hall."

 

They stand up together, Peter's ribs still tender but much better than before, and head off towards the younger boy's room. He's weak on his feet and slightly dizzy due to his fever, but they manage to make it there without incident. The lights are on when they walk in, and Tony braces Peter firmly against the wall before moving to the bed and pulling the red and gold comforter back. He fluffs the pillows for good measure and helps the boy climb in, tucking the spiderling in snugly. Peter coughs lightly as he settles in amongst the blankets.

 

"Alright kiddo," Tony says fondly, sitting on the edge of the bed and smoothing Peter's hair back. "I'm one door down, so if you need me, just holler. Or cough really loudly if that's easier."

 

Peter nods, grinning tiredly up at his mentor.

 

"Thanks, Mr. Stark. I will."

 

Tony squeezes Peter's shoulder as he stands up, and he flicks the lights off before quietly shutting the door, waving on his way out.

 

 

Peter, content with the knowledge that Tony would be there to take care of him, drifts off to sleep with ease, a faint smile gracing his features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter comes back the next weekend and helps Tony burn the sweater.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!! This was fun to write, even if it took me longer than expected. Your comments and kudos warm my lil heart, and I hope you're having a fantastic day  
> X.x

**Author's Note:**

> So... This was meant to be a one-shot but it's come out a little longer than I expected. Oops!! 
> 
> Comment or kudos if you feel like it, they're all appreciated! X.x


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